Flames of Torture
by LondonLife
Summary: It's the 74th Annual Hunger Games all over again, but this time there's a difference. A Wildcard is allowed to fight to death alongside the district's tributes, but what if the Wildcard is someone Katniss knows? Then what will she do? Rating may change. Includes all the original characters.


Every year after our names are entered for the reaping, I find her camouflaged in bottle-green grass huddled against an ancient oak tree in the meadow behind her father's cottage.

Her emerald eyes flicker with flames of torture, relaying her pain to me in silence. Long blades of spring grass wrap around my knees as I approach her, repeating our ritual that reoccurs every year. Just an hour previously I was hand in hand with Prim, entering my name in exchange for supplies of oil and grain. This was the worst year by far. Not because my name had now been entered fifteen times, but because the most disturbing of my recent nightmares had broken into reality, tainting Prim's life with the unfathomable torment that the Capitol referred to as 'entertainment'.

Her name was now present amongst the tangle of others, ready for the odds to claim her prisoner. _At least my name is there too_, I think to myself as I continue towards the brunette.

My feet tangle in the knotted weeds below my feet, my quiet approach now ruined by my own clumsiness. I'm metres from Gia's spot beneath the shade when she looks up, squinting at my limp body.

I draw to a halt, waiting for her to acknowledge me with a smile or a softly spoken word, but she says nothing. There is nothing to say. "Hey." I whisper.

"How are you?" She asks, her emerald eyes deserting their focus on her my shoes to stare at the crease between my brows.

_Defeated, exhausted, desperate?_ The list goes on, yet I say none of these things I respond with the same monotone response I use every year on this day. A response Gia is not only anticipating, but relying on. "Yes. _May the odds ever be in my favour,"_ I laugh, but it's dry and certainly not genuine.

She pats the ground next to her; a grin plays on the edges of her full lips. "Come here, Katniss."

As unusual as it is for me to succumb to the comfort of another person, I couldn't ignore her offer. My feet seem to find their own way to her and I slide down the tree, slipping onto the ground beside Gia. "Everything aches."

"It's natural," she smiles. "Though, I'd have thought we'd have become immune to this suffering by now." She grits her teeth between each word, the effort of speaking too difficult when numbness possesses her entire being.

"Impossible." I say, blindly pulling blades of grass from the hard, dirt soil. Each blade I kill with inconsiderate tugging, the pain dulls ever-so-slightly. Only Gia understands how desperate I had been to keep Prim's name out of the draw. And Gale knew too, but he wasn't here.

"Prim's name is only in once, Katniss." Gia reminds me, gently. "It's you and Gale I'm worried about."

Suddenly, I understand why she'd disappeared so urgently after entering her name. I hadn't seen her approach the Peacekeepers or sign the book, but I've always assumed she goes earlier than anybody else. Looking at her emotionless eyes flicker with the aftermath of despair, I realise that her huddled position in the grass is a haven away from anguish. She knows that the odds are certainly _not_ in my favour and as for Gale; he's in an even worse position than me.

"At least you aren't at a high risk." I offer, but she doesn't reply. She stares straight ahead into endless seams of bottle-green grass swaying in the breeze.

"My name is in there fourteen times." She reminds me.

After a considerable amount of silence, Gia gently pulls my head to rest on her shoulder and tells me to close my eyes.

I comply, resting my head against her shoulder. She inhales deeply, but I don't close my eyes this time, instead preferring to watch as her finger's trace the back of my hand with smooth, repetitive motions. In the distance, two horses owned by Gia and her father are grazing, nuzzling their way through the grass. Little did they know, they would be used by the peacekeepers as guards when the games began and probably for a long time afterwards too. It was cruel irony, but unavoidable all the same.

As much as I resist my eyelids flutter closed as I inhale the comforting scent of Gia's sweet perfume. One of the few luxury's she earns as a horse-whisperer. Just as my eyelids close, her smile reappears as sweet and as beautiful as the real thing. Drifting further into my unconscious world of nightmares and hopeful dreams, I see Prim's face next to her. The further along the line I go the more smiling faces I see. Then I see Gale. He isn't wholesome, nor is he smiling like the others. When I reach out to touch him in my semi-conscious state, he disintegrates beneath my touch, until there is nothing left.

I inhale sharply, blinking rapidly to try and somehow dilute the truth. He could very well be gone in a couple of weeks, and I will not be able to do anything. But then again, I could be gone…Or Prim….Or Gia…or the boy with the bread. None of our futures were certain.

I gently move closer to Gia, entwining our arms and then resting our hands together, allowing our fingers to tangle loosely. She doesn't resist, but she's silent and unmoving.

"If it's me today…" I begin. She cuts me off.

"Don't even think about it,"

"But_ if_…" I say this with more force. "If it is, will you take care of Prim for me? And my mother? I know you don't know them very well but they'll be willing to help you out, if you need anything, medically or otherwise…"

She stops me. "I will do my very best to protect _all _of you." She promises, her finger's trembling as they hold onto mine. Her full lips turn a darker shade as she bites her bottom lip, stopping her from crying.

"Thank you." I murmur, though I know her promise is made in vain. Nothing can protect any of us if fate decides it's our time to die. We cannot argue, and she cannot protect me anymore than anyone else can. "And I will do the same."

She nods. "Thank you."

"Who do you think the wildcard is?" I ask, my thoughts torn between one desire to completely ignore the capitols existence and the other desire which is too know _everything._ That way, the risk of me being caught off guard in the arena would be lessened.

She shrugged and I could see the slightest ghost of a smile appearing across her lips. "I don't know." She admitted. "It could be anyone, Katniss."

"I know." I nodded, "But, whoever it is hasn't ever had to take part before."

"Well, the last wildcard to enter the arena was Owen Williams from District Five. Do you remember?"

_Yes, _I did remember. My father told me about the Williams family when I was little. "Yes, I remember him."

The Wildcard is a forbidden secret guarded in every district. Every six years, a new Wildcard for each district is chosen by President Snow. He slither's through each district, eyeing his prey, and then he declares they are his for the next six years of their lives. They remain in the district, starving and cold, but their lives are guaranteed to end fighting in the midst of the Hunger Games. Unfortunately, the Wildcard is often the most talented or valuable child with the best skills. They are irreplaceable and their talent is unspoilt. The child selected from each district will then be subjected to six years of torture. They must sit by and watch every game, just waiting to see if they will be called. They may even be helping the district mentor as the game proceeds, but the tributes must never know who the Wildcard is. In our district, only Haymitch and our representative - Effie Trinket –know the identity of our Wildcard.

This means that if one of our tributes were to defy all odds and win this year, then next year, our new tributes would be allowed the advantage of the Wildcard. Only the winning district from the previous year can use their Wildcard, and it is now a rule that they must be used. Whether in the arena or not, Wildcards must fight alongside their tributes, and hopefully keep them alive. If the Wildcard's tributes are the last alive, then both the tributes and the Wildcard can win. If not, then just one tribute is enough to declare them both as victors.

The rules are still slightly undefined, since District 12 has never actually had a tribute who has won since this new twist was introduced. Haymitch insists that tributes will not use the Wildcards, but for the last five years, they have been used every time. Only once, was a tribute caught off guard. A young girl named Alice Williams from District 5 asked for her Wildcard to intervene during a particularly vicious attack of fire that nearly claimed her life. When the Wildcard descended into the arena it was heart-breaking, for he was her brother and she had not known until that moment when it was all too late.

By then, he was part of the games too, with only one objective – to_ protect_ her. If she had not used him, then he would have never been used, for he was nineteen two weeks later and would have been relieved of the Wildcard status. They both died in the end, and neither lived to see the victor succeed.

It was the Capitols most gut-retching year for the Hunger Games, and they loved it. District Five, on the other hand, were distraught.

"If you had to bet, who do you think the Wildcard is?" Gia asked, keeping her voice soft and discreet. We could never be sure that we were truly alone. The Capitol could be watching our every move, but then again, maybe they had better things to do.

I thought about it. I thought about our strongest candidate's right through to the weakest. The Wildcard needed to be cunning and sharp, but they also needed to be strong and quick. Plus they needed a talent or skill that the Capitol considered invaluable. No one sprung to mind. "I honestly don't know," I sighed. "I mean, it could be the girl who has a pretty good aim with a dagger, what do you think?"

"I think we'll find out soon." Gia smiled, continuing to trace patterns across my bare hands. The familiarity was soothing and somehow helped keep my nerves to a minimum.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I have a feeling this could be our year." She grinned. "It scares me, of course. But perhaps our Wildcard is ready to fight, and next year, they might just get the chance."

"Maybe, but if I was the Wildcard, I'd be praying my tributes didn't use me." I admitted, a dry laugh escaping between my lips.

"I'd want to be there with them." Gia sighed. "Just so that I could do _something_."

I sighed, continuing to watch the rose bush gently sway back and forth in the light breeze that floated overhead. How did such beautiful things continue to breathe in a world as corrupt as this? How did Gia keep so calm when everything around us was ruined, ready for disruption? It could all be taken away just with one wrong move –like District Thirteen.

"Be careful what you wish for."

She looked to me, smiling softly. It was hard to tell if her smile was genuine, but her eyes were serious. "I will."

"Promise?"

"I promise."


End file.
